


The Brightest Grin Cannot Erase Torture

by CamilleNicole59



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Asylum, Gen, Ironically Happy Ending, Kidnapping, Maybe Insanity, OFC' POV, Stay safe if you're squeamish or very impressionable, This is pretty graphic guys, Thomas' POV, Torture, Trauma, joan's pov, murderous intent, rare swearing, very angsty, very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleNicole59/pseuds/CamilleNicole59
Summary: Thomas is taken away by some sadistic men, who keep claiming they're trying to prove a point. The aspects of his personality war and stress on this horrible nightmare, which, coupled with the situation, may be causing Thomas to come apart at the seams.





	1. Prologue: Too Quick a Change

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by author Transcribing from Wattpad, who wrote “Misfortune (Lin-Manuel Miranda)”, in which Lin was also kidnapped. It's a great story, and if you love Hamilton and the cast, you should check it out! Also I was inspired by Ranni (Rannni?), who wrote Backward By Sixes, an AMAZING Avengers fanfic, as well as other works by (her?). In fact, this was even inspired by The Killing Joke! XD

Thomas and Joan hung out, eating pizza in the former's car, probably openly inviting cockroaches over with all the grease that spilled on the seats and the floor of the vehicle.

They had just come out from the movies, joking and freaking out about Tom Holland's Spider-Man, who was admittedly better than the other too, according to them.

"So," started Joan with their mouth full, smiling brightly. "Admit that's the most fun you've had in weeks."

Thomas sighed, but smiled as well. "True, true. I _have_ been staying at home a lot."

"When are you not?"

Thomas giggled along with them and suddenly burped. "Oh, excuse me."

"Chill, dude." They also burped, much louder than Thomas, which then caused him to burst out laughing.

"Oh, Jesus, Joan."

"Hey, decide on what you wanna call me."

They laughed harder at the corny joke.

"Now I gotta go to the bathroom," chuckled Thomas. "Thank you," he added sarcastically.

"You're welcome!" they sang.

"Do you have any idea how old that joke is?"

"Moana only came out December last year. It's not my fault it's already old."

Thomas muttered a "True." and put his pizza on the carton box and left his car, reminding Joan to lock it.

There was a 7/11 right there (he snorted, remembering Heathers) beside the car, and he went around it to enter the public bathroom in the back. As he opened the door, he saw inside a handsome man washing his hands; his eyes flicked on Thomas before slipping back down to his hands.

He immediately went and relieved himself, sighing quietly.

_You haven't gone to the restroom all day. That is entirely unhealthy._

"Shut up," he whispered, interrupting the voice before it kept going. "I had a good day."

_Dude's right. You have any idea of the many infections you can get from that?_

Thomas sighed, and thought. _Alright, guys. Just let me be for a sec. Unless Roman actually has an idea for the music in the car._

_I was waiting for you to ask that, Thomas._

Soon, after the agreement of the others, there was silence once again in his mind, and he smiled in content. He went to the sink two spaces away from the other man, who was now looking through his phone. Thomas realized he obviously wasn't in a hurry to go anywhere.

_What if he—_

"Shhh," he accidentally uttered, and prayed the other man didn't hear him. _I had a good day, Virgil. Not everyone is a creepy stalker._

Patton agreed. _Yeah, kiddo. Don't look at people so negatively!_

The two then fell silent once again.

After washing them, and fixing a few hairs that tumbled out of their place, Thomas passed beside the man to dry his hands—

But suddenly there was one hand crushing his neck loose enough to let him barely breathe, and another against his mouth, effectively muffling him as he yelped, then yelled, thrashing in vain.

_Oh my God. Oh my God **oh my God.**_

_Slay him, Thomas. You mustn't let him overpower you!_

Thomas gasped in despair as he realized what was happening, tears forming in his eyes. The irony. He should have _listened_.

The others began working overdrive, their voices agitated.

_According to memory, there are no people near. Don't focus on screaming. Useless. Is there any way to disarm him?_

His hands, which had slid to the hand around his throat to pry it off of him, then went behind his head, scratching blindly, desperately. He heard the man hiss as he felt his nails make contact with the man. Thank God he hadn't cut his nails.

_O-okay. Everything's gonna be alright. We're gonna be fine. We'll be fine._

"Shhh shh shhhhh," the other man shushed him softly, almost as if consoling him. "Be quiet, okay? We're just gonna hang out for a while."

Thomas whimpered as he saw an aerosol, and there was opaque gas showering his face and he coughed and couldn't _breathe—_

_**Don't breath it, damn it!** _

_Virgil, is correct, Thomas!_

Too late. His shallow, too quick breath slowed, and he slumped, until he collapsed against the man. Who began sweetly singing a lullaby in his ear. His vision tunneled, and Thomas moaned. He was suddenly on the floor. His head ached.

"Don't worry, Thomas. We're just going to prove a point." The voice was far away, and as second after second passed, he forgot why he was so somnipotent altogether. He closed his eyes.

* * *

 

Joan checked the phone for the umpteenth time. It was approximately twenty minutes after Thomas had left, and he hadn't come back. They decided to call his number, and it rang twelve times until his voice came.

_"Hi!"_

Joan sighed in relief. "Thoma—"

_"It seems as if I'm not available at the moment. Maybe you could call me later or—"_

Joan's breath hitched. They hesitated, then hung up and bolted out of the car, running to the 7/11. They pushed the door to the bathroom open, but it was empty.

"Thomas?" they called, and realized their voice trembled slightly.

There was no answer.

They checked the stalls for good measure, then ran out and into the store, their mind racing with the worst scenarios.

They almost crashed onto the cashier's counter. "Hey," they whispered, out of breath. "You seen a man with smooth brown hair, like this tall," they raised their hand an inch higher than their head, then rubbed their face, not knowing how to describe him. "Big Viner and YouTuber, actually. You seen him here?"

The cashier, a young woman with a piercing on her lip frowned and shook her head. "No. Are you okay?"

Joan felt like he would faint. They stared at the woman, their breath quickening. Then ran through the store, searching. Ran outside. Went back to the car. Left it once more.

They called Thomas again, again and again. Straight to voicemail. By now their vision was compromised with unshed tears.

They shakily raised their hand one more time, clutching the phone tightly, and dialed there numbers.

One ring. Then— _"911, what's your emergency?"_

"I think my best friend was kidnapped. Or— or missing. I—" They sobbed.

* * *

 

They were in the police station, their leg jumping slightly. They had been pacing and pacing until an officer told them to sit down. He had then left only to come back with a coffee.

"You look bloody exhausted," he mumbled as he gave them the coffee, his faint Australian accent calming them slightly. "The detective is doing everything she can, alright, mate?"

Joan slowly nodded, their cold hands shaking and accidentally sloshing the coffee out of the styrofoam cup. They barely noticed their wrists and thigh burning. The officer put a hand on their shoulder, his eyes pitiful. Then he left.

Joan stared ahead, and not once had they sipped from the cup. It turned cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I don't know if you understood Thomas' thought processes. I kinda like the format and the idea, but I want to know if you like it as well. 
> 
> And if you're like me, and crave for more angst, don't worry. It's coming. If you already dislike the angst, don't read. But I would appreciate constructive criticism.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this horribly short prologue.


	2. Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is when it all goes downhill.

His head throbbed, his limbs jerked slightly. He slowly opened his eyes, and his vision was blurry. He saw darkness, but a little illumination in his periphery. He tried to turn his head to it, but the light blinded him, and the pounding increased tenfold.

He winced, his breathing heavy, and didn't understand the ringing in his ears.

He tried to reach out a hand to the back of his head, but it somehow landed on his temple.

"L-Logan...?" he whimpered, wanting an explanation. Where was he? Why did his head hurt? Why was it so hard to _think?_

_Conccc... Concussion. I-I don't... remember anything._ Logan's words were unnaturally slurred. Thomas' chest constricted.

He heard heavy breathing that wasn't his own, and turned around, nausea filling him immediately, but saw no one.

_It's Penumbra, Thomas. There's nobody there._ Roman sounded awfully irritated.

"What's g-going on?" Thomas whispered, his speech slower than usual as well. "What's wrong with Logan?"

_H-he said concussion._ The side took a deep breath, counted quietly, then continued. _Cognitive... stuff is— down, right?_

_R-right... Comp— compromised._ Logan groaned. _Signss show we could have— what's the— suffered it f-for **hours** — atttt least._

Patton completely ignored him. _We should try and remember what happened, kiddos, else we're just gonna worry with no solutions._

"You're... right." Thomas sat up, mind swimming in fog. He squinted and put a hand up to block the light. "Comes from the..." he struggled to remember the word. "The _door_ ovvver— there." Now he sounded like Logan, too.

_Can't we l-leave? I hate the darkness here._

"Virge, I can b-barely look at thhhhe light." He heard a huff.

_Thomas, I demand we get out of here. Whatever happened, I'm not enjoying it one bit. You might have to slaughter whatever villain is out there._

"Okay," he breathed, and tried to stand up, but collapsed. His stomach flipped over.

_Crrrawling is... better, Thomass._

Thomas groaned, but complied. Patton kept urging and encouraging him to continue, but Thomas felt like lying down and sleeping forever.

_Nno! We d-don't sleep on it..._

_Come on, kiddo, almost there!_

He lethargically crawled up stairs he didn't know were there, and reached for the doorknob, missing a few times until he could grab it. His grip was weak and almost slipped, but he held on.

"Okay, okay." He was already breathless. He turned the knob, but it suddenly opened against him before he could pull it, crashing onto his face. He slumped backwards onto the stairs, the bile rising up his throat and dribbling out his mouth.

A man was there, apparently, because he heard someone gag outside of his head. "Gross."

"Aww, you thought you were getting out, didn't you?" That was another man. Thomas recognized that voice.

And suddenly the memories thrust themselves into his brain.

_...We're kidnapped,_ Virgil said it as if he couldn't wrap his mind around it. _We're kidnapped._

Footsteps came closer, until he was picked up by one arm. "You didn't hit your head too hard, now did you?"

"Did _you_ hit him hard, dude? Have you seen his eyes?" the other man asked.

The man holding him opened an eye Thomas didn't know he had closed. He tried to see him, but the man was out of focus.

"Yep, pupils are dilated. I decided to use it to my advantage." Through the fog, Thomas saw the man grin. "You must be tired. I'm sorry, but we gotta ask you some questions first."

Thomas moaned. Sleep sounded like heaven right now. Maybe if he fell asleep, it'd all be over.

_Thomas, I don't have to be Logic to know that's the stupidest thing you've ever thought,_ Virgil ground out. But his voice was trembling.

_We're gonna get through this, guys!_ But Patton sounded more anguished than Thomas had ever heard him.

_Yes. Either I'll rescue ourselves or someone else will—_

He was dropped back on the jagged floor. Thomas grunted.

"Come," said the man, suddenly cold.

Thomas' head was a merry-go-round. He forgot which way is up and which is down.

There was a kick in his sternum and he yelped.

"Do as he says, bitch."

Thomas sluggishly raised his head and crawled... up again. The light was whiter, brighter than anything Thomas had ever seen. He thought he would go blind from it— or rather, Virgil thought— and shut his eyes.

As soon as he reached a smooth surface, his hair was gripped, and he was forced to his knees. He groaned, then hiccuped, tears already sliding down his cheeks. Someone scoffed.

"What a fag."

_Prick,_ Roman seethed. _You shall burn in hell._

They— how many were there?— carried and dropped him carelessly onto a chair, that groaned from the sudden weight. His hands were immediately tied behind his back, as were his legs. The material rubbed and scraped his skin.

_...Rrope._

His hair was again gripped as he was raised from his slumping position.

"How many subscribers do you have on YouTube, honey?" That same man who almost choked him asked with the same sugary tone.

"H-huh?"

"Subscribers, Thomas. YouTube. How many do you have?"

"Hhhow do you kn-know—?"

"We've been watching you for a while, if I'm being honest with you. Can you be honest with me?"

Could he? Thomas tried to think of the pros and cons if he would, but his logic was clearly failing.

A slap threw his head to the side, and he suddenly vomited again, this time with much more force. The bile tasted a bit like popcorn and pizza, and the nausea that came from that made him vomit again.

"Focus, _sugar_. How many?" Thomas detected a threat within the dulcet tone.

He racked his brain for the number, but it wouldn't come. He shook his head, immediately regretting it, his mind swimming. "I..." his breath hitched. "I don't remember."

"How about Instagram, huh? How many followers?"

" _I don't remember._ "

The man took his jaw in a crushing grip, and forced Thomas to look at him. He was smiling, but his eyes were murderous. "One last chance or it's going to be the whip."

_Oh no. No. Torture. What's the number, Thomas? **What's the Goddamned number?!**_

Thomas sobbed. His head was oppressed in a way that made him barely think.

_Aren't theeey... supposed to kn-know th-that?_

_Will they really hurt us? They can't be that cruel... Right?_

"Tttt— t-two..." he mumbled desperately. There was something familiar with the number two. He wasn't sure why. He shut his eyes. "Two something. Two..."

The man tilted his head down menacingly. "Yes?"

Thomas gasped, his eyes opening wide. "Millllion. M-million." He giggled. Two million."

"And that's just on YouTube, right? That's a _big_ number." He was back to treating him like a four year-old. "And on Instagram?"

The shaky smile fell from Thomas' lips as he stared at the man. The other number was lost on him.

The other man sighed, and signaled to someone behind Thomas.

He felt someone take his hands, but then he unexpectedly saw Virgil sitting in his periphery, and Thomas turned his head to see him. He was whimpering, his knees tucked up to his chest, hands covering his ears already. He stared right at Thomas with a wild look on his eye, rocking himself back and forth, back and forth.

There were hands on his shoulders and calming whispers in his right ear. This was Patton, Thomas realized.

Roman was right in front of him, seeming as if he was considering murdering the man who was now ruffling Thomas' hair in supposed affection.

And Logan sat cross-legged, hunched, on the floor, frowning as he stared at nothing, blinking listlessly.

"What're you looking at, Thomas?" The man turned to the places his eyes slipped to, the places _they_ were at, but his gaze went right through them.

Right. No one could see them.

His train of thought was promptly interrupted by a sharp and deafening sound, then an acute sting on his back, that then evolved to **excruciating** pain. He vaguely noticed his hands were no longer tied behind his back, and that he was squirming in the cold floor as he screamed.

The others screamed along with him. Either in terror or pain, Thomas couldn't be sure.

Too soon, another, and he felt warmness trickling his back.

Another, _another, **another.**  Too **fast.** Too **agonizing.**  He lost count._

Soon the constant torment and misery was encompassing his whole **world.** His shriek the only sound he knew.

It might have gone on forever, in a week, or in three minutes. But eventually, it stopped. A silent, hoarse whimper tumbled out of his throat, but he quieted, and relished in the silence. His slit and lacerated skin steadily leaking more and more gore.

Somehow his head was instantaneously in an even thicker fog.

Someone gripped his back and he groaned loudly, sobbing. His shirt, his beloved Steven Universe shirt was ripped out of him, taking skin with it. He screamed once more.

"Quiet." The same man, and his cruel voice somehow disturbed Thomas even more. He immediately bit his tongue, his chest heaving.

The man tisked a couple times. "One point four million. I want you to think about why we asked you that, Thomas. Okay? Or you can just go to sleep and try to answer that in two hours. Sound fair?"

Roman suddenly laughed. It didn't sound happy at all. _Maybe if you were whipped countless times after being taken against your will, you'll realize you never were._

"Oh, I almost forgot." The man chuckled, oblivious to Thomas' thoughts, his voice changing yet _again_ to parental. "My name's Tony. It's nice to meet you, Thomas."

He was picked up again, this time bridal style, and Thomas hissed at the contact with his torn back. Again he was dropped unceremoniously to the floor— no, stairs, and he tumbled down until he _did_ hit the ground. But he didn't have aNye more strength to scream along with his shrieking limbs and thoughts.

The door shut, from what he'd heard. The sound hurt his ears.

**Everything hurt.**

But he couldn't make a sound. He was terrified they'd _punish_ him more if he did.


	3. Deprived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chap is a bit longer than the others. Hooray!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder. The sides are projections of Thomas' mind, as Logan had said in the ”Making Some Changes” video.
> 
> Also, I started school like a week ago, so it'll take me a bit more time to update.

When Thomas woke —he hadn't remembered falling asleep— there was something surrounding his neck, uncomfortably compressing it, but letting him breath. The immediate pain on his back reminded him of what he kept forgetting. And there was a strange, strong, iron smell that instinctively repulsed him.

He opened his eyes to shut them again, the light burning his irises. He then realized his throat and tongue felt like sandpaper.

He was chained by the arms over his head; the clinking, caused by his shaking, giving it away. So then, what was around his neck was chains, too.

He was hunched, would fall to his knees if he could, but the metals held him up, and he risked himself being hanged if he did that anyway.

Roman and Virgil were talking at once— no, arguing, while the other two were mysteriously silent.

_They're p-probably gonna **kill** us after all of—_

_Hush, you black hole. I'm **going**  to get us out of here—_

_Y-yeah, **right**. Let me just hold your samurai s-sword for ya. _ Virgil's tone almost failed at sarcasm.

They sounded... strange, Thomas realized. He couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Right then, the door opened with a crash, making Thomas jerk and wince at the sudden ringing of his ears.

Virgil choked on a sob. Roman cursed him with a trembling voice.

He couldn't hear the other two, and that only increased his rising panic.

There were footsteps, and he opened his eyes to a squint.

"Hey!" _Tony._ "You're awake! That's awesome. You wouldn't have liked me slapping you awake, would've you?"

Thomas shuddered in response.

"Well? Have you thought about it?" Silence. A tisk. "They said I overestimated you, and I do _not_ want to be wrong." His voice went a whole octave lower at that sentence. Thomas struggled to think frantically.

 _L-Logan?_ Thomas called in his thoughts.

"Not even close." Thomas felt a slap on the already swelling, right cheek and gasped, his head reeling. "I'm Tony."

Had he said that out loud? Thomas hadn't even noticed.

 _Y-yess?_ Thomas sagged in relief, the sting on his back causing him to wince. Before he could explain, Virgil cut to the chase.

 _Why d-did they want to know how many followed us, Logan? What's the point? He's gonna **punish** us if we don't know._ Virgil was rambling. Thomas was just grateful he remembered it better than the host himself.

 _W-well, gee, haven't you all realized they're crazy? We'll probably never know._ Patton. His voice's pitch was lower than usual. They're all strange now. Their voices, their words.

_...Attention. Thhhey took **y-you,**  not annnyone. _

Thomas immediately voiced that, his voice hoarse. "I'm a-an... inspiration ttto— p-people?"

From what he could see, Tony grinned. "I was right. You _are_ smart, even with a concussion." He ruffled Thomas' matted hair. "We're gonna prove a point to people. And _you_ are the perfect choice."

Something about Tony approving him made him smile weakly. He blamed Patton and his need of validation.

"You kinda threw up and cried like there was no tomorrow—" _Is there a tomorrow?_ interrupted Virgil.

Tony hadn't noticed. "—You must be hungry, thirsty." He looked at Thomas with pity.

His mouth ~~hardly~~ salivated, his stomach rumbled, right on cue. Thomas nodded desperately.

Tony chuckled, rubbing his dirty, stinging cheek. "Let's see if you earn it, huh?"

Whatever smile that Thomas could muster at the thought of sustenance fell. "W-what?"

"Tell you what. I'm gonna give you a cup of water. Let's see if you can get it!" Before Thomas could furrow his brows in perplexity, Tony left without another word, going up even more stairs to the left.

Now that he could look around, Thomas realized this was the same room as yesterday, too much of the almost dried blood staining the floor a few feet away. No attempt to clean it was made. The bile rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down—

Roman stood in front of him, blocking the disturbing view. He gripped his shoulders, which _hurt_ , but the prince apparently needed the support, because the trembling and the dilated eyes terrified Thomas.

Roman grinned widely. Erratically. "All right. I know you don't have strength, I _know_ that. But we need to get out of here _right now_."

"How?" breathed Thomas, his breath becoming heavy, matching Virgil's, who was trying to get Roman's hands off him.

"We can't," refuted Virgil, scowling. "We don't know the exit, nor where we'll go after that. We'll just get caught and **punished**. And it'll be _worse_ , so much _worse_." Tears formed in Virgil's eyes.

Roman wasn't listening. He slapped Virgil away, who hissed in pain. "Trust me, Thomas. You _said_ — you _promised_  you'd listen to me! **Listen to me now!** " His voice raised into a scream.

"I'm s-sorry." Thomas gasped. "I'm sso sorry."

Patton carefully put his hand on Roman's shoulder. "Virgil's right, kiddo," he told him gently.

Somehow, Patton giving up that quickly was more frightening than Roman's deranged behavior.

Tony came in just as Roman gripped his hair and groaned, the trembling increasing, but Tony looked right through him. Walked right through him.

"What're you looking at, honey?" He gently grabbed his jaw to make him look up into his eyes. Thomas shut his eyes at the brightness over the other man's head.

Right then, the light hold left. His head dropped without the support, and the chains caught and choked Thomas before he raised it again, coughing. The constant pounding on his head only increased.

There was a shriek, long and bloodcurdling, resounding in his mind. Other voices tried silencing it. It wasn't letting Thomas focus.

Tony had moved away, placed the cup of water he had (apparently) been holding on the table— where did that come from?— right over the the gore, about six feet away. Then he took Thomas' wrists and the metal cuffing and cutting them, and unlocked them with a key, until the tied hands finally fell at Thomas' sides. He almost collapsed with a whine, but stood shakily, his throat complaining.

Tony took the chain that held his neck, holding it tightly, and walked behind Thomas. The clinks of the metals overwhelmed his ears.

Tony suddenly pulled harshly, and Thomas took the message, stumbling back and gagging.

His eyes never left the water. Virgil thought it might disappear in the blink of an eye. No matter how illogical, Thomas couldn't bring himself to look away. He could barely swallow without pain.

_Must've... been a loooong t-time..._

Thomas understood. The question was: _How long_ had he been here without food or water?

Thomas' view was blocked _again_ , and for some reason, it caused his heart to quicken its pace.

"Prove yourself to me, Tommy."

Thomas _despised_ that nickname, but his chest constricted and he grit his teeth when he finally realized what was happening.

Tony left without him noticing. It was just him and his swirling, too loud thoughts, and the sleek, fresh, pure fluid.

 _He made it impossible for us. That bastard,_ Virgil spat.

_No... He—he told us to prove ourselves. That means it's possible... right?_

_Right, f-friend._ A giggle. _We're strong enough for this trial. We **are.**_

Logan didn't speak.

Thomas could barely crawl, too weary and pained for anything more, but he attempted to move; his back screamed at any movement, and he hissed.

But the chain held him in place, not letting him move. He still pushed himself further, suffocating himself just to go a few inches closer, just a bit more...

He gagged from both nausea and the terrible pressure, but he ignored it all. He just wanted to drink.

 _There **must** be a way. There **must** be!_ Roman was the only one who voiced their host's distress. _Logic, **think!**_

No answer.

 _O-okay. Thomas._ Patton was deliberately ignoring Logan's silence. _I know we can do this. Don't hurt yourself too much, but let's just try to **think** through this one._

 _Can't you see? We can't._ Virgil was abruptly, strangely stable. On the surface. But Thomas could always feel his anguish.

_They're trying to probe us until we go insane. They're having fun, and when we get boring, they'll make it even **funner.** Rape, scorching, and maybe death, but then again that's boring t—_

_Could y-you not, kiddo?_

_I'm stating fact here. Stop thinking that these guys have mercy—_

Thomas silenced them desperately. "Stop. P-please, stop."

They barely complied. Especially Roman, who appeared on Thomas' periphery, and kept moaning, whining. But Thomas couldn't bear taking his eyes off that cup to so much as glance at him.

"What'sss w-wrong with you?" Thomas queried.

Roman didn't answer. He only approached, walked around the table, reaching out but not touching the cup by an inch. His eyes never blinked. And when they landed on Thomas', the latter shuddered.

Thomas blinked, and Roman was right in front of him. Those irises unfocused, the pupils even more dilated. Thomas could barely see the sclera. He took Thomas' head in his hands harshly, shaking it.

"We cannot succumb to _helplessness_ , Thomas. I _beg_ you, just reach it! _Drink_!" he shouted, grimaced.

Patton was there, too. He frowned, nodding slowly. "Y-yeah. There's something we haven't thought. We're smart, we can do this."

Thomas pulled the chain to reach further, slitting his palms; he crawled backwards to avoid choking himself, he tried to reach for the table to pull it towards him.

But it was _just out of **reach.**_ His fingers could almost graze the wood of the table, he could crawl and almost stand right before it when he had to halt, when the pain increased tenfold.

But the pain wasn't as unbearable as before. It was constant, steady. Maybe he could bear with that routine.

* * *

 

He was wrong.

He wasn't sure how long it went. He tried everything. _Everything_ , and then some. But the cup was still there. Just _there_.

He was sprawled over the floor, on his stomach to avoid the increase of the constant throbbing in his back, two feet away from the table. His vision tunneled, blurred with the few tears his tear ducts could form, but the cup never leaving his sight.

Logan had tried to tell him it _was_ a trick, a psychological one, but something in Thomas' mind just couldn't accept that.

He was pretty sure that _something_ was Roman and Patton.

His eyes sometimes closed without warning, and he'd leave reality from seconds to minutes at a time. When he did, Roman would have the time of his life, controlling every single inch of dreams, happiness and serenity and the rare slaughter or even massacre of men. When Virgil brought Thomas back _here_ , Roman would be even more pained and desperate. His manic laughter/sobbing was going to be his source of constant nightmares, Thomas was sure.

He felt hot and dry, and his head ached and pounded and throbbed more than he thought possible. The heightened fog and the dreams and his _need_ for water made him fail to remember what his life was before this nightmare.

He caressed the back of his head, his limbs jerking slightly. ~~His eyes _never_ leaving the cup.~~ There was a swollen gash back there, and possibly dried blood.

It dawned on him. If Tony ”wanted to take advantage”, he did this so Thomas would be even more incapacitated.

Speak of the devil. He entered right then and there. Without hesitation, and gazing right at Thomas' _soul_ , he took the cup. _And. **Drank. It.**_

Thomas' left eye started twitching. The slight shaking intensified with full force.

"Manip— man— mannnipulativve behavior." Logan was right beside Thomas, his hand landing on his shoulder stiffly. His eyes were glazed over as well, but there was something in them, something empty, that might mirror Patton's own lately.

Tony stepped closer slowly, then picked Thomas up by his bedraggled hair. "Disappointing." He frowned. ~~"Maybe you won't eat today to learn your lesson."~~ His eyes brightened. "Scratch that. Let's give you some water."

It was Thomas' turn to frown before he was dropped to the floor. His head took the brunt of the fall and his vision went ebony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I just had the urge to scratch the sentence Tony said, as if Thomas (or Logan) literally obeyed the order in fear. In case you didn't understand, here's the explanation.


	4. Two-Faced?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's version of hydrating his victims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gives even me the feels no matter how many times I reread and edit it.
> 
> Also, I guess you could say the narration becomes kinda schizophrenic? I find it in character, because there's no way Thomas or Logan will think clearly in this situation. Just clearing it up.

He woke to **_freezing,_** filthy water going down his throat and nose and eyes. There was cloth over his face, not allowing him to see, _to breathe_.

Virgil instantly left his feigned serenity and screamed. It blended with Thomas' own gargled one, until he choked, but he couldn't even _cough_.

Then, in the blink of an eye— or in forever?— it was over. He wheezed and hacked, blood mixed with water dribbling out of his lips. He shivered severely.

The respite lasted only three seconds. The water came back with full force. It made him attempt to gouge out the eyes of any and all the men holding him. He thrashed and scratched and arched his back, but _it **kept coming.**_

The torment ended just as abruptly as it started the first time, and suddenly he was in Neverland, murdering sadistic pirates and feeding them to crocodiles while Roman giggled. Thomas laughed along with him.

Slap. He was back to gore, frigid, men cackling. The laughter was dangerously similar to Roman's own.

He sputtered, gasped, whimpered, vomited some more, which only increased their cachinnation.

He could understand Roman's fantasies of massacre, but when Patton moaned and crushed air in his hands, smiling brokenly— even though he couldn't see him, he somehow _knew_ what he was doing— Thomas began sweating through the cold.

"Orr is th-that the f-fevver?" Logan stood, staring at the men unblinkingly, his focus clearly on comprehending the psychological reason as to why the misery was so amusing, rather than the cause of Thomas' perspiration.

"Has he learned his lesson?" Tony. That dulcet tone; Thomas could identify it underwater if he had to.

"He sure did. The fairy's been bitching the whole time."

~~_A pistol would be too quick. A dagger could do the trick if he could take his time, cover the skin in a work of art. A chainsaw sounds fun. Or just throwing them to a fireplace and watching them **burn—**_~~

The cloth was taken off, and he could finally breath without difficulty. Despite that, he was still heaving. His limbs were out of control, lurching and seizing. Whatever disgusting water he could swallow was already wasting in tears and sweat. And when through the tears he saw Tony approach, and when he was then picked up by the neck, he unintentionally micturated.

The others made sounds of repulsion, but Tony merely sighed. "They scared you a lot, didn't they? Don't worry; if you _behave_ , you won't be **punished**. Got it?"

Thomas sobbed, nodded. Virgil was already obsessing on not whatever making mistakes they just made, on the **punishments.** It might as well become their triggering word for emesis.

Tonly pulled him up by the arm after letting go of his neck, and only then did Thomas notice that his chains were off.

_He's underestimating us!_ Yet another hoarse giggle. But it contrasted Roman's next enraged demand. _**Break free already!**_

_Nno. He's rightt to c-consider us wweak._

Thomas crumpled twice, not being able to stand, let alone walk along Tony. In response, Tony pinched his tattered back.

Thomas groaned, arching his back again to escape the agony. If he had more strength, he'd probably be screaming right now.

But then, Tony's action only provoked the adverse reaction of what he wished. Thomas just collapsed. Limp like a rag doll. However, Tony still didn't seem to grasp that, because he then twisted the skin with sharp nails.

Now Thomas _did_ have the motivation to shriek.

Patton was torn with the constant bipolarity of that man, his own emotions a dichotomy.

Roman's daydreams were running wild, a frantic and horrific diversion that, together with Patton, made Thomas _very_ nearly suffer a breakdown.

Virgil hyperventilated, shouted and pleaded in Thomas' ear to _get up already, no more, **please.**_

Logan uttered one word, his voice cracking. _Beg._

"Please," he gasped. Tony was not easing one bit. "W-what did I do? What'd I do?!" He sobbed, with little to no ability to speak coherently now. "I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ , just let me go **_home_**."

Tony tisked. "Aww. You'd think I'd pity such an adorable, _pathetic_ little guy like you. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not like most people."

He punched Thomas in the face. His nose immediately bled, and he moaned, tears blending with dirt and blood.

"Get over it, Tommy. The sooner you accept you have a _purpose_ here, the easier it'll become. Trust me." Tony's voice fluctuated between loving and uncaring, cold and sweet. Thomas couldn't understand the meaning behind _the meaning_ behind the voice.

_No,_ Roman whispered, husky. _Trust me. You promised. Trust **me**._

"Stand and suck it up," ordered Tony with a hiss.

It's kind of funny, how he doesn't have to raise his voice to frighten the hell out of them.

Thomas stood, swaying, but the support that Tony provided while holding his arm helped somewhat.

"We're going to prove a point. I expect you to cooperate."

"What _i-is_ th-the point?" Thomas whispered.

Tony grinned. "You'll see." He opened the door to the right and led Thomas back to the darkness of the... cellar. It was a cellar.

They went down the stairs, Thomas and Virgil fearing Tony would let him fall down them... But he didn't.

Instead, when they reached the floor, Tony gently sat him down, minding his head and his torn back. His eyes held something different that Thomas had never seen before.

_Is that...?_ Patton queried, unnaturally silent, hesitant. But Thomas could always detect when there was hope in his voice. _Is that **guilt?**_

"...I'm sorry, Thomas." Apparently... it was? "They'd... They'd hurt me if I tried to help you." His voice was but a whisper, and his eyes suddenly brimmed with tears

Thomas and the other three aspects cursed Patton. But deep, _deep_ down, Thomas wanted Tony to care. He was desperate for whatever mercy he could receive. But the others didn't dare trust him yet.

"Why didd you hhurt m-me, then?"

Tony sighed, looking away. "I-I'm a coward... We've done this before, you know. And I tried to be good, but..." He rolled up his shirt, and Thomas saw scar after scar on his abdomen and chest. Thomas' breath had hitched, his shoulders rigid, but he couldn't take his eyes off the horror.

Some scars were short, some wide, some deep, some long, some covering others. Some seemed to be caused by bullets, by scorching, by knife.

Logan, through the fog, was strangely fascinated, whike Virgil muttered about how he deserved it. Roman laughed, delighted at the **punishment.**

So far, Patton responded healthiest, by whimpering. 

_He's **lying.** That bastard thinks he can win you over after all of this._

_N-no, but... What if he's right? Those look pretty real..._

_Need I remind you of Prince Hans of the Southern Isles?! Virgil is actually **right** this time._

_...Those are very different circumstances, kiddo. You're comparing **this** to a _**_movie._  **Despite the endearing nickname, his voice was lowered, challenging Roman to continue refuting him. _I think we should trust him._

_I-I don't sssee how h-he could... b-benefit from tellinng us... Then again— behaviorrr befalls on th-the... spectrum... of sadism._

_Right!_ Roman agreed, out of nowhere sounding delighted. _That man has abused us. We don't require genius to acknowledge that!_

"You okay?"

Thomas blinked. Focused. Analyzed the question. Took a deep breath. Sighed. Didn't answer.

The other sighed as well, and rubbed his forehead. "I'm so sorry."

Thomas stared ahead. Shrugged. "Okay."

Tony wouldn't look at him, but he inched closer. His hand rose, hovered over Thomas' shoulder, until it was finally, tentatively, placed there.

That one contact, gentle and caring— ~~**_W_** _ **as it?**_~~ — broke through the walls Thomas had frantically built, and he began trembling, but he didn't dare move a muscle or gaze at the other man.

They might have stayed like that for a long while, or perhaps only a couple of minutes. But, eventually, Tony let go, and stood.

"I gotta go. They'll become suspicious." He sighed.

Thomas nodded, still staring at the wall, but without the touch he already felt cold.

In the periphery of his vision, Tony shifted his weight between his feet, lingering. "They might be wrong, you know. _None_ of our victims have lasted sane as long as you."

Thomas frowned, and his irises slipped to the other without his control. _What do you mean?_

He began walking up the stairs without elaboration, and waved once he reached the top.

Thomas slightly— erratically— waved back, squinting at the light.

The door closed, and he was shrouded in darkness. Silence.

Thomas shut his eyes and convulsed, gasping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if it shows now, but there's this glitch that the end notes from Chapter 1 show here and other chapters. I don't know how to fix it, but I wanted to let you know in case you were confused.


	5. Hope through the Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY for not updating sooner. Part of the reason is school, part is me being a bit lazy. But mostly school. As a gift and an apology, I'll give you guys two chapters. Hope you enjoy!

Thomas' parents and brothers came to Joan's home, and Joan felt guilty for the dark bags under their dilated eyes. They all hugged Joan tightly, and while the father and brethren held back and then sat on the couch, the mother didn't let go for some time.

Talyn, who was staying at their place after the terrible news, went down the stairs, greeting the family quietly.

Neither of the two had let go of their phones, nor slept, nor eaten. When the older adults realized this, they forced them to rest after a small meal.

Well. Meal probably meant playing with their food and throw it away after about half an hour. Rest probably meant lying down and thrashing on the bed, waiting and waiting for a call, of a clue, of a found young man. A call that would lift the infinite weight off their chest.

Joan and Talyn heard shouting downstairs, of insults and accuses, and ultimately, sobbing.

Joan heard Talyn whimper.

So they tried to block out the suffering with the pillow. Tried to sleep.

It didn't work.

* * *

 

They called Terrence, Valerie, Taylor, JayisJo, even Rafaela and Jonathan and Dodie. Even Leo.

Joan called everyone they could remember, not caring about the privacy while simultaneously desperately wishing the public, the fans, wouldn't know.

They _all_ came over. If the situations were different, it might as well be an ecstatic reunion, filled with jokes and laughter and what might have looked like insanity to a stranger.

Instead it was quiet, awkward. So many ”I'm sorrys”, so many sighs, so many pats on shoulders, embraces. Apologetic smiles.

A few had the strength to shed tears in front of such a humongous crowd.

Even if they wanted to, Joan couldn't muster them. They felt numb. Cold.

Talyn didn't bother creating a façade, their dull expression and empty eyes probably mirroring Joan's.

And Joan didn't want to look so _miserable_. But as they gazed into their reflection in the mirror in the bathroom, and attempted countless smiles, their lips only formed grimaces.

Thomas' family appreciated the support of their son and brother's many friends and aquaintances, but after a while, most receded from the conversation, thinking to themselves.

Deep down, Joan wished they had kept this a secret. Made them believe all was well.

After all— Ignorance is bliss.

* * *

 

The police called.

No one lingered a second, nor bothered to listen to the caller any longer. Talyn almost left the house barefoot. Joan left Marco, their beanie, on the couch in their haste.

The youngest brother, Shae, drove the car. He disobeyed most traffic laws.

It mattered to no one.

* * *

 

Once they reached the Tavares Police Department, they jumped out of the car, Christian having to rush back to lock it.

Detectives Schultz and Cuevas were _actually_ waiting for them.

Schultz, a tall, blonde woman, extended her hand in greeting, smiling stiffly.

No one shook it, only started asking questions at once.

"You got a c—?"

"Have you found h—?"

"Where's my s—?

"Ah." Cuevas raised his tan hand as a universal sign for silence. After a few seconds, they quieted. He continued. "If you would come with us."

They complied, a few almost tripping on themselves.

They went to a small, dull office, and inside were two desks. They had stacks upon stacks of paperwork. Joan just realized what a miracle it was that the detectives were taking their time to find Thomas. He blurted out a thank you right then and there.

Schultz's smile was a little more genuine at that, while Cuevas nodded, fake-saluting.

The detectives took out a few files, one labeled ”Forensics”, and another seemingly a different case.

"Alright. In the bathroom where the victim—"

"His name is Thomas," muttered Talyn.

Cuevas stared, waiting for another comment, before proceeding. "In the bathroom where _Thomas_ was last seen, according to our witness," His eyes slipped to Joan for a split second, then back to the file. "Forensics found traces of chloroform."

"Which means?" urged Mrs. Sanders.

"Chloroform, no fingerprints, no witnesses of the crime." He rubbed his forehead. "We might be wrong, but this is the MO of some very professional kidnappers."

Mrs. Sanders whimpered. Joan saw some brothers blinking quickly, others' lips trembling.

They could barely voice their question. "Have— have you found any of your victims?"

Schultz looked at them with pity. "So far, we have found all of them."

Joan frowned. If they said they were professionals—

She sighed. "I am no telepath, but they don't want to keep their victims. It's very probable we'll find Thomas. Just not the kidnappers."

Joan smiled for the first time in days, and when they glanced at Talyn, they were smiling too, a glitter of their old self shining in their irises.

But Mr. Sanders' expression did not lift. "But?"

Cuevas cringed. "This has gone on for years. They are very good at what they do."

" _And?_ "

Schultz ceased the stalling. "The victims do not leave unscathed." She sighed again. "They have _all_ been committed, no exceptions."

"That means..." Patrick asked, knowing but not wanting to believe it.

Both detectives reluctantly nodded.

"But," spoke up Talyn, not letting go of their newfound hope. "Thomas is strong. He'll get through it."

Cuevas shook his head, his eyes on the floor. "That's what they all say."

* * *

 

After Shae drove them back, the family hugged the two friends tightly before leaving. They made them promise they would at least eat and sleep.

Well, that's what empty promises are for.

Talyn immediately went up the stairs.

After a while of silence and Joan staring at the wall, they heard crashing. Screaming.

They covered his ears. And _finally_ , the tears came.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs* Definitely a filler chapter. Sorry. Next chapter is a lot less boring.
> 
> And if you find any grammatical errors or anything else, please let me know!


	6. And Then I Don't Feel So Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter in one day! Spoiler alert (not really): This one is a roller coaster.

Time passed too slowly in here. Or perhaps too quickly. There was no sense of it in this hell.

He could go so long without any food or water, until they made him choke on a Ring Pop or dunk his head on a bucket for an indefinite, eternal period.

Everything that happened here, he couldn't measure in a metric called ”time”.

Tony was more and more confusing. Two-faced. Patton held on desperately to whatever love was directed at them. Roman imagined every scenario of how the man became like this, imagined every moment of torture he went through. They both empathized too much.

Thomas wasn't sure what **punishment** he loathed most. Either the knife tracing along his skin, or the drowning.

...Or the isolation.

Him and his continuously stranger and stranger thoughts. Thomas realized it was better to _not_ have four voices begging for attention, or suffering along with him.

Wait. Weren't they him? He kept forgetting.

He kept forgetting everything that _mattered_. Voices and faces, lyrics to countless beautiful songs...

Happiness.

The fact that there was nothing to see, nothing to hear but his own mind, perpetually, made him shake and heave and cry. He couldn't sleep; and if he did— nightmares.

Virgil and Patton were not helping. The mood swings and palpitations and panic attacks were becoming more and more common.

But sometimes, Patton would just clock out. In those instances, he was numb, empty.

He wasn't sure what was worse.

But perhaps the latter is better. Pain was what ruined his life. Maybe if he got rid of it, it would all go back to normal.

Thomas felt the others jolt. For what, he wasn't sure.

 _Did... Did you just say that?_ Patton whispered.

"Say what?" he muttered, his heartbeat quickening for the umpteenth time. "Who?"

"Me." Logan sat cross-legged beside him. His left eye twitched twice. "The th-theory— it m-may go aggainst _everything_ we kn-knew, but that's w-what I'm here forrr."

Thomas decided to not listen to Logan for now. He looked away until he couldn't feel his presence beside him anymore. Even after he left, Patton kept repeating and repeating the same sentences. _Not true. Numbness is bad; not necessary. Not **true,** Thomas._

* * *

 

Thomas stared as Roman peeled off the skin of his fingers, all the way to his shoulders, while singing breathily, shakily. Thomas had tried singing along with the prince, but his butchered voice only reminded him more and more of _how_ and _why_ he had screamed himself raw.

"Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels." Roman paused, eyes unfocused. "Doorbells and sleigh bells—  
and schnitzel with noodles...." A deep breath. "Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings. These a-are a few of my favorite things."

Patton joined along, quietly, slightly off-key, but evidently it didn't matter to either of them.

"Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes,  
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,  
Silver-white winters that melt into springs,  
These are a few of my favorite things."

"When th-the knife bites, when the w-whip stings... when they all are mad," whispered Thomas. "I simply remember my favorite things, and then I do—"

The door abruptly opened, taking all the pitch darkness in the cellar. Thomas hissed, shutting his eyes.

Footsteps came quickly down the stairs. Too quickly.

His arm was gripped painfully. Thomas yelped.

"Hey, hey." Tony. "I'm getting you out of here."

Thomas' eyes widened, for once ignoring the blinding and deafening of everything. " _What?_ "

"You heard me." He breathed too heavily, too quickly. "Come on. _Come on_ , Thomas."

He finally blinked out of his stupor.

Patton was already openly sobbing in joy.

Roman squealed and shrieked, and if Thomas didn't know any better, it would've sounded like he was fanboying. He probably was.

Logan took a deep breath. _We ccould not s-succeed in evac-cuation._

 _Are we being tricked?_ asked a hyperventilating Virgil.

 _Of course not!_ yelled Roman. _He has being kind behind walls for the longest time now!_

 _I just wanna go home,_ breathed Patton.

Tony pulled Thomas up, smiling brightly. But the latter's vision blurred and his stomach flipped at the movement. He gagged.

"Sorry. We can't go slow now, Thomas. Come on." He pulled, and Thomas complied, stumbling.

They climbed stairs and stairs and more stairs. It was dark all around after that blinding room. Despite the growing exhaustion in his frail limbs, and the burning in his lungs, his grin was threatening to split his face.

Thomas could feel Logan's grimace. _Where a-are the others?_

 _...Good question._ He tried voicing it, but he was too out of breath. He began coughing instead.

"Shhh. Don't make a sound," Tony whispered desperately. "Save your strength."

Thomas obeyed.

Logan and Virgil protested, but Thomas couldn't just throw away this shot.

His mind reeled with dreams and fantasies and memories that seemed so far from possibility only a minute ago. Seeing the stars, the sunrise, cute dogs. Laughing with Joan. Telling his parents how he loved them. Hanging with his brothers. Singing without a care in the world.

Freedom. Utter _freedom_. A breathless laugh escaped his lips.

Roman would not be helpless and bound anymore.

Virgil would not be paranoid.

Patton would finally see the goodness in people once again.

Logan—

"Hey!" A distant shout resounded in the distance. Thomas realized they were outside now, in a forest. Right outside the somewhat obscured ”cabin” they came from.

Both men looked at their right, where the sound came from, and there was a barely noticeable, tiny silhouette. He yelled again, this time probably for assistance.

Tony pushed him, irises determined through the darkness.

"Go."

Thomas hesitated. His lips parted but nothing to come out.

"Go!" Tony shouted.

"Thank you," he sobbed. And then he ran and ran.

The canopy blocked most of the moonlight. Thomas ran into bark and branches, had tripped and slipped in the mud.

It didn't stop him. Not even the strong urge to dance at the prospect of liberation.

Virgil gasped. _Oh God,_ he breathed. _Oh Jesus. They're letting us go._

_He took c-care of themm then?_

"Yes," breathed Thomas, gasping along.

Roman belted _A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes_ at the top of his lungs. Patton laughed, the rare hiccup from the tears interrupting it—

_**BANG!** _

A scream burst from Thomas' throat, and he plummeted, his hand gripping his shoulder.

Logan was panting. _...Gunshh... G-GSW._

The others were deadly silent, numbed from the shock.

Thomas had never felt such _agony_ , sharp and rippling through his arm and chest. He squirmed on the floor, groaning. The blood seeped through the gaps of his fingers, exuding in waves.

Patton was the first of the other three to come back online, because he sobbed. Made Thomas do so.

He was picked up by the _same arm_ , another scream ripping out of him.

"Guess who?"

 _That psychotic, sadistic—_ A scream of pure fury and terror interrupted Virgil's rant.

Both Thomas and Roman shrieked it in unison:

" _You **bastard!**_ "

"Careful," Tony warned, twisting Thomas' shoulder. Thomas gasped deeply. "You don't wanna be **punished** , do you?"

Thomas had predicted it. He vomited at the sound of _that word_.

He kept twisting and _twisting_. Thomas sobbed again, thrashing feebly.

He was lowered to the floor. Virgil knew immediately what it meant, because he screamed—

A foot dug into his wrenched shoulder, and Thomas did not recognize his own screech, higher and louder than ever before. ~~That was saying something.~~

A capillary broke, the blood dripping down his nose.

Tony had mercy, and let him go.

Thomas was blubbering on the floor, seizing.

Scratch that. Tony had _physical_ mercy. He cackled. "You really..." he wheezed. "You really bought it. Oh Jesus."

Besides his heaving and the other's giggling, the silence in the forest was deafening. Thomas was pretty sure that was his own fault.

Gripped by the hair. "I'm trying to teach you a lesson, Tommy. Live and learn." He turned Thomas' head to him uncomfortably. "You've seen the mask, all your life, really. I've just showed you the truth."

 _N-no_ , stuttered Patton desperately. _Please, no. That's not... that **can't** be true._

Roman was using every curse known to man.

"Let's go back home, huh?"

Logan's voice shook. _Safe to say... **n-not** our hhome._

It turns out, they were wrong.


	7. Cruel with Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *heavy sigh* Just... *another sigh* Here. Sorry. There's not much excuse for not publishing yesterday nor Friday. NOR EVEN THURSDAY IM SORRY.
> 
> Hope that you like it. At least it's not that short.

Tony pressed wet cloth to Thomas' shoulder, the latter wincing weakly, limp against the wall. The slits on his back protested, but he dismissed them, too weary.

Tony tisked. "If only you stayed. Then I wouldn't have had to shoot you." He shook his head. "You poor thing. Lost a lot of blood."

Thomas could barely hear him. Logan spoke so indistinctly that no one could comprehend him. Thomas' eyes seemed to be given the wrong lenses, and his limbs jerked involuntarily from the pain and the fog.

Virgil was offline. Roman was offline.

Patton was occupied with sobbing.

That made Thomas' heart break, in both ways.

His eyes shut, and instead of what was once flourish and wonder, Roman was suddenly all but chaos. Virgil aided in the hurricane of his nightmares.

Those were really a routine now, but Thomas didn't have the strength to be awake nor asleep. He was in between, mostly.

But, thankfully, the exhaustion took over, and Thomas was consumed with darkness.

* * *

 

When he could open his eyes blearily and think, he realized he felt dry. Too dry. His skin was scorching.

He attempted to sit up, but blood rushed to his head, so he collapsed once more. He tried to swallow. Couldn't. Sandpaper was all he could taste.

Logan did not have to explain. They'd been in this situation countless times already.

Thomas whimpered. A part of him, mainly Virgil, just wanted to die already. But at the same time, he clung to whatever he could for survival.

Tony may be clairvoyant, because he entered right then. And left the door wide open.

Roman whined, bit his fist until he drew blood, but only then bit harder and shut his eyes; his desperation for liberty growing by the second. Tony just _knows_ how to taunt them.

"We're gonna play a little game." Tony crouched in front of him. "Rules are pretty simple. You've been asleep for a while, which means no food or water for you while you are." Tony's eyes glazed as he thought. "In fact, I'm gonna help you with remembering that. Come on.

He pulled on Thomas' injured shoulder, then mocked the other's moan. "Suck it up," he snapped. "Stand and follow me, honey."

Some agonizing minutes later, they entered the repulsive, bloodied room, and Tony chained his arms above his head without difficulty. They have reached that level, where Thomas knew struggle was _far_ from the solution.

Tony stared into his eyes, and grinned. "Bring her in," he called.

A door opened, and a pale muscular man came down the stairs, dragging a whimpering girl by the arm, with Asian features and short, straight hair. She could have been only eight to nine years old. Her eyes dilated once they landed on Thomas, and they brimmed with tears.

It was safe to say that he looked awful.

She was handed over to Tony, who picked her up gently. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Where's mommy?" she mumbled, her voice breaking.

"You're not gonna see her for a while, alright? You're here to prove a point." Tony smiled at her. She nodded slowly.

Tony gazed back at Thomas. "Kate here is going to work as a reminder. Right, Kate?"

She nodded uncertainly again. "Okay."

"The rules are pretty simple," he repeated to Thomas. "You sleep, she hurts. You sleep, you also starve and dehydrate." He grinned. "You don't want any of that, do you?"

Thomas attempted to swallow, but couldn't. He shook his head.

"Great!" He set her down and chained her ankle. She stared, frozen. "You guys _behave_ , alright?" he warned. But he didn't wait for an answer. He stepped up the stairs, and soon the door at the top of them slammed shut. Thomas' ears rang in response.

The girl looked to the floor, twiddling her thumbs. "Does it h-hurt?" she queried, biting her lip.

It took him a moment to realize she was speaking to him, then a few more seconds to analyze her question. He nodded, but she couldn't see. "Yes," he croaked.

"...I'm sorry."

Patton despised that. "Don't... donn't b-be."

"Mommy says it's nice to be sorry for things we can't control." She looked up, only for her gaze to slip down again.

Logan found her intelligence above average. He liked her.

"Th-then I'm ssorry, too."

She took a deep breath, and raised her gaze up at him, and kept it. She cringed. "You look really hurt."

Thomas sighed slightly.

She approached, hesitant. Virgil yelped when she reached three-feet-distance. When she saw Thomas' muscles tense, she stepped back. "Am I scary?" she asked.

He attempted to comprehend the question. Then he shrugged, his shoulders complaining.

"Do you not like people close to you?"

Repeat.

She frowned. "You're not making sense."

_I comp—pletely agrree with y-you._

She sat on the floor, cross-legged. She looked around for a while, but then her leg began bouncing. "H-How long are we gonna be here?"

All aspects stiffened at the reference of time. It had become their enemy as of late.

Her eyes expressed something Thomas did not commonly see in children, maybe something Patton expressed before, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was. She instantly changed the topic.

"Do you like ice cream?"

He... had entirely forgotten about ice cream. "Yeah," he whispered.

"What's your favorite? Mine is vanilla. I don't really like chocolate."

He frowned. That's rare.

She smiled slightly. "Finally, I get a response! It's true, though. I like vanilla, or coconut. What's your favorite?"

He thought about it. For longer than he thought he should've.

"Hello...?" Her smile fell.

"Ch-chocolate... I... hhate sprinklesss."

She sighed. "I love them." She gasped. "Do you wanna hear about my puppy?"

Patton perked up slightly. _Yay_.

Thomas nodded. His lips tugged up in the ghost of a smile.

"He's like three weeks old, and this big." She held her palms apart of about five inches. "He's brown and so _soft_. He likes exploring the house. He always tries climbing up my legs when I'm sitting down..."

As she rambled about ”Rookie” ("It's not that he's gonna be a rookie forever, but he _is_ a beginner in life right now!"), Thomas' limbs finally relaxed a bit, just a bit.

_She's u-using a diverrsion t-tactic. One Roman h-has failed at._

Roman did not comment. He only sat right beside her, his bloody hand close by an inch to her skin.

 _ **What are you doing?** _ demanded both Patton and Virgil.

"Nothing," he growled, and placed his hand on his lap. He looked right at Thomas.

There was _something_ in his eyes. Something _worse_. Something reserved specifically for Virgil on bad days.

"We were once like her." He giggled, but his irises betrayed the façade. "Can you imagine? ...I cannot."

Thomas and Virgil shuddered. Patton whimpered.

 _That... Th-that is **not** a-adequate of him... to s-say_ , mumbled Logan, stating the obvious, which he did when he could not comprehend.

The girl looked at Roman, then back at the other, and frowned. "What're you looking at?"

...Right.

Thomas shook his head. "N-nothing."

Roman went livid.

"You dismiss me at my weakest?!" he screamed. Patton held him back, shushed him.

"I didn't want to let you down!" Roman sobbed. "Have mercy, please, don't **punish** me!"

Virgil gagged at the _word_.

"Hey!"

Thomas gasped as he saw the girl six inches away from him. She sighed, appearing relieved, then stepped back.

"...You're sick. Daddy told me about this. He works with sick people."

Logan absolutely _loathed_ her statement. Roman vehemently refuted her, his voice breaking, even though she couldn't hear.

"It's gonna be okay." She raised her hand to caress his cheek, but lowered it at his yelp. "...What's your name?"

Thomas stared, his vision tunneling, his breath becoming shallower by the second. He knew it didn't make _sense_ , she was just a girl, she wouldn't _hurt_ him—

"Mine's Kate. Remember?"

 _No_. He blinked, but the slight darkness turned to scarlet blood all around him. He laughed. Then his eyes opened. Her own were dim. She bit her lip.

"I don't know what's so funny..." She twiddled with her fingers again.

He heaved. "M-me either," he whispered.

"What's your name?"

Should he— _**No**. You never know. She might be a tra— What?! She's just a kid! She— Childrenn c-can be jusst as dan-dangerous. **Lord o-of the F-flies** , rememberrr?_

He shook his head again.

She sighed. "My last name is Gāo. The kids at school think it's weird. It's 'cause my dad is from China, but he met my mom here. Then I was born in Ohio, but we moved to Orlando..."

He lost focus. He doesn't know how. Doesn't know what he's thinking, _if_ he's thinking.

The girl— _Kate_ — might have noticed, but continued rambling anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely cannot characterize children. Please tell me if she's too innocent for her age, too mature, too dumb or intelligent, all that, alright? Unfortunately I wrote a lot for her because she's necessary for the plot, so I'm not gonna be able to change her much.


	8. An Insight into Guilt

A shriek rattled him awake. _He was asleep?_

His eyes snapped open, and there was Tony, grinning widely, a knife in his hand. Kate's neck was leaking lines of blood, her eyes dilating. She was gasping. It took Logan too long to put two and two together. But when he did—

Virgil's muscles spasmed as he fell to his knees, right behind Thomas, his breath coming in gasps.

Patton covered his mouth and trembled, as apology after apology tumbled out, interrupted by hiccups.

Logan's ”analyses” began reeling, the concussion his only delay. _The— The g-girl wass wounded, Tony— he's th-the culprit— no r-reason? Yes. He has o-one— **Hypothesis debunked.** Us— **we** a-are the culprit—_  He gasped for breath, let it out just as quickly. _Guilty, guilty, **guilty**._

Roman just snickered. Then gasped, shaking uncontrollably. Giggled again.

Thomas did the opposite of Roman; he sobbed, the chains trembling along with him.

"You won't do it again, will you?" asked Tony, approaching the panicking man, pulling Kate along by the ear as she whined. He stood in front of Thomas, the proximity enough for a kiss. Thomas' chest tightened.

Thomas and Virgil shook their head vehemently.

"Good. I knew you'd _cooperate_ , sugar." He let Kate go, kissing her on the top of her head, and left again.

She held her neck in her hands, hissing, trying to stop the flow of blood. Tears slid down her cheeks.

If he wasn't feeling like an arid desert, he would probably react the same way. But his eyes were dry. He shut them, focused on breathing. He must have been _suffocating_.

Distantly, he heard her. "There..." She hiccuped. "There must be cameras somewhere."

He raised his eyes to see her, squinted them. Hers were sullen.

"He came so fast... He's l-like Santa Claus..." She began singing quietly. "He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He knows when you've been bad or good; so be good, for goodness sake." She shivered. "Did I do something bad?"

He honestly didn't know. One could do anything wrong here. He knew _he_ had done something wrong. He decided to shake his head, but then the blood rushed to it at the movement.

She took her hands out of her neck and paled at the sight of them; her breath became heavier. She glanced around, until she looked back to her torso. She then ripped a piece of her shirt and put it against her neck. It gradually became red.

Logan was fascinated by her reasoning, for some reason. Roman was as well, but mostly because of the color contrasting her quickly paling skin.

She rubbed her eye with her wrist, in which the least amount of gore stained it. "You really don't like talking..." She sighed. "Daddy says it happens for a lot of reasons." She tilted her head, scrutinizing him. He suddenly realized she was distracting the both of them again. "Hmm. I think you don't like me. Or trust me."

She was right once again.

 _She's..._ Patton was shocked. He sniffed. _She's taking all of this **really** well._

"Trauma does that. He said that it causes hyp... hyper... something. It means you don't trust people."

Thomas stared, silent. The only sounds were the chains, slightly trambling along with his muscles.

She furrowed her brows. "You're creepy. I don't know why— well, I _do_ , but I'm not sure what it is." She took her cloth out to check the blood, then pressed it back immediately, wincing. "It's in your eyes. I think they're sad... but there's something else, too."

The only reaction she got from him was a frown...

... _Right_. Roman was himself. Virgil was himself. Whatever was shown in them would be shown in him. That meant his own irises would terrify him as well.

"That cliché of “The eyes are the window to the soul”? I just realized it's maybe true." She shrugged.

He parted his lips, but out of nowhere, his limbs began jerking intensely.

"Did I say something wrong?" she asked, her eyes widening.

His breath trembled, his head pounded. He was probably in Hell right now.

Wait. Where _was_ he? Something about the question made his stomach drop. There were quick footsteps, a voice that— might be Talyn? No— too young—

"H... cold!"

Didn't he know that voice? It was far, far away. He strained to listen, only to then forget what he was trying to hear. His chest ached, his head _ached_.

"Quite... oppos... dear. He's hot."

He giggled, despite the exertion his chords made at that single sound. "Th... Thank you, J-Joan..."

Joan might have taken that too literally, because he was bathed in _freezing_ water. ~~_Déjà vu._~~ He screamed, thrashed, coughed, sputtered. Was this the ice bucket challenge?

 _Too c-cold. T-t-too cold._ A laugh resounded in his mind.

Slap! His mind and body reeled. His stomach flipped. Sobs. Why was he so sad? What's wrong with Patton?

 _Logan, **wake up!**_ ...Virgil. He was panicking.

"Wake up, Thomas," Joan sang.

More water. His limbs were so _cold,_  Thomas was sure they'd fall off soon. Titanic came to mind.

Slap! "No, you're not gonna die. Did you really think you'd have that mercy?"

He cracked open his eyes, shuddering. Confused at the statement. And there they... _he_ was. Not Joan. Not Talyn. Not home. Not a damn ice bucket challenge.

 _Oh_. Logan finally grasped the situation. But also couldn't. _**Oh.**_

Somehow that realization left Thomas even more exhausted. More than anything else, ironically.

His limbs jerked uncontrollably, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the cold, the concussion, or the overwhelming emotion that took over his mind and heart.

Kate was quietly sobbing, covering her mouth and nose to stifle the gasps. She was mostly failing. Tony snapped at her to quiet, and she held her breath, only to sob again. He glared. "Sorry," she whispered, her breath hiccuping.

He looked back to Thomas, who could barely focus already. "I'll admit it's my fault. I let it go too far. But hey, you _will_ get to drink more water to not die, so that's good news!" His voice was unnaturally jolly for what he just said.

Virgil moaned at the thought of living any more.

Roman growled, ~~imagining crushing the man's neck, blocking any and all air, as his skin darkened to purple and he choked and pleaded with his ey—~~

"Drink," ordered a voice. It wasn't Tony, but a woman. She sounded detached, cold. Thomas opened his eyes, realizing they had closed at the joyful fantasy.

The woman was blonde, her hair curled. She was naturally beautiful, barely any makeup covering her small features except for some blush and lip gloss. But despite the almost innocent aesthetic, it wouldn't fool anyone. Her eyes held a different story.

"Drink." A cup pushed unto his lips, the liquid leaking around them. And he was terrified of opening them, but the temptation for water was too much.

He immediately knew it was filthy, and he gagged slightly, but didn't dare complain. Too soon, it was over.

 _Not e-enough,_ Logan said, but his voice, his heavy breath, did not make it sound like an objective observation. _More_.

Her smile was obviously fabricated. "I'm going to stay to keep an eye on you."

"...So..." Kate hesitated. "You're gonna stay here _all_ the time? In case he..."

She did not need to finish. The woman smiled again. It was actually more real this time.

All aspects decided to despise smiles from now on.

* * *

 

Joan had asked, again and again, how long the captives remained missing until they were found. The detectives always repeated around this one statement: "At least three weeks."

It's been a month, two weeks, and four days.

They saw the weariness become a part of Thomas' parents. They heard them dispute, saw them cry. The brothers became their own shells of who they once were.

Joan should feel guilty for not trying to help, to console them. They're not the one with a missing son and brother here.

But they just feel stressed beyond belief.

They didn't notice it was called distress, until Mr. Sanders decided to call a therapistfor group therapy, for his sons and Thomas' closest friends, who all seemed to not be able to cope.

The therapist looked at every movement, listened to every statement, scrutinized every symptom, and told them it was very clear they were suffering from anxiety and distress. Joan, Talyn, and two brothers suffered from depression, it seemed.

That made sense. It also made sense that Talyn was constantly angry, because that's apparently the second stage of grief.

What didn't make sense is that the demons disguised as human beings would take _so long_ to bring him _**back.**_

Sleep feels more like a memory. Joan and Talyn have lost weight, enough for people to think both of them appear anorexic. People everywhere, in Instagram, Tumblr, Snapchat, YouTube, Facebook; everyone knows something's wrong and attempts to discuss and theorize what it is. Joan doesn't dare comment.

A blessing Schultz mentioned was that these cases were so disturbing, they have not been published yet. However, as time passed and there was still no sign of the victim, they would need to take more action. Because limited clues and complete lack of knowledge of the abductors were getting them nowhere.

But Joan didn't want to ruin more lives. It all started when they left Thomas alone, when they delayed in calling, when they told everyone and sent their lives crashing down.

They chose to check Jon and Dodie's channel on their computer. THere was nothing new. That's normal for the former, but for Dodie to not update in almost two months...

Scratch that. In a sudden coincidence, she uploaded a new one right then.

It was called _Desperation_.

At first, Joan didn't want to see it. They immediately moved the pointer away to click something else... But there was something that compelled them to do so. So they locked themselves in their room, and clicked.

Joan saw her sitting by the piano, barely glancing at the camera. Her hair was messier than usual. The tune she played fluctuated between tragedy and panic.

They could barely see her bloodshot, wet eyes after the single minute mark because of their own tears. And her voice, oscillating between emotional,  loud and quiet, and broken was torturous in itself.

They cried until there were no more tears to shed. Once they did, emptiness took over.


	9. Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Results from lack of sleep:

He could barely keep his eyes open, his focus drifting all the time, but Virgil was the one who terrified him with thoughts of her being beaten or cut or whipped.

Well, more than she already was.

Patton was miserable, his tears and ragged gasps showing no signs of subsiding even though he has cried for... hours? Days?

Roman, although he couldn't touch or be seen by Kate, remained beside her, singing Peter Pan. _As if her innocence could be regained by some obviously fallacious tunes._

The one who mentioned that sentence was not Virgil, but _Logan_.

Every time Virgil would glance at her, at her pained eyes and small, torn frame, he flinched. Shuddered.

Logan kept analyzing and reanalyzing the situation, with no solution and a continuous ”error”. The only thing he _could_  figure out was that they were the culprits _guilty **guilty GUILTY**_ **—**

In short, Thomas' mind was nothing short of a disaster. Kate had mostly one-sided conversations, because Logan was too caught up with all the events leading up to now, suddenly not being able to accept them as legitimate. Or because Roman kept singing and screaming and laughing and daydreaming. Or because Patton decided to imagine Liam and Fiona in the poor child's place.

But it was Virgil who startled him out of his reverie by imagining the worst-case scenarios if Thomas allowed his eyes to close. But sometimes what awakened him was a slap, or when Kate _~~damn her~~_ called him by his name. Or worse, _Tommy_.

She did not completely understand why he despised it so much, therefore sometimes it just slipped out. But when his flinches caused her guilty eyes, they only provoked more and more guilt in himself.

He saw Talyn sneer at him in repulsion. And then the white walls around him dripped in scarlet with the blood of the other victims, of himself, of _Kate_ , and then he was drowning, gasping and choking on the gore—

Water drenched him— well, he was already drenched in sweat and blood— and apparently interrupted his terrified scream, because he was forced to hack out whatever he breathed in. His throat whined in pain.

He waited for Tony to speak, for The Woman to order him to drink. But the only sound was Kate's breathing.

"What...?" Logan was disoriented, his eyes bloodshot. Probably mirroring his host's. "Per—" He sighed, rubbed his eyes. "Perplexxed."

"That wasn't me," whispered Roman, who pulled on his eyelid absentmindedly, his pupils widened to such extent that he appeared intoxicated. "Wasn't me."

Thomas opened his eyes, squinted at the brightness, and stared at Virgil, who was fiddling with his bedraggled hoodie with trembling hands, then switched to digging his nails into his arms when he understood the question behind Thomas' gaze.

"I-I'm not sure..." His already narrow pupils became slits. "I've n-never felt—" He took a sharp breath. "Felt something so _real_."

"Thomas...?"

Virgil screwed his eyes shut at the call, even if it was made by an eight-year-old. His breathing shallowed.

"You're staring again."

Thomas' irises finally slipped over to the girl, who kept her distance, but not enough. The rattle in the chains and Virgil's shout to get back carried the message, and she took a couple steps back.

His eyes landed on The Woman who hid in the dark corner of the room, eyes glinting. She was always like this. It was always frightening.

Kate sighed, something that has become a habit for her, the action aging her decades. "You... You like pizza?"

Logan's memories were triggered, and some peace interrupted the chaos in Thomas' mind at the familiarity of them.

The one most fresh was when he and Joan came out of Spider-Man: Homecoming, ordered pizza, joked around, without a care in the world.

"Only natural." Patton stared at a fixed point at the floor. "Your best days always get ruined by something."

No one, not even Logan, who had learned of cognitive distortions, corrected him.

"Do you?"

"...I u-used to."

She tilted her head, frowning. "Why?"

He tried to shrug, but hissed, his shoulders complaining in their painful angle. "It's wherre it a-all went wrrong."

Kate didn't push further, looking down at her lap, eyebrows scrunched up. But then she admitted, "I don't see how a day... or a life, can be ruined with pizza."

 _I don't e-either,_ stuttered Logan, his breath quivering. _Whatevvver works._

His way of saying whatever he thought he knew is only falsehood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and please tell me if there are grammatical errors, in this chapter and others. Also, I would greatly appreciate if you commented, let me know if you like where this is going. Soon it'll all change and a new, metaphorical "chapter" of the story will be introduced.
> 
> Anyway, just thank you for reading, and let me know where I can improve in this. ;)


	10. You Know Nothing of Madness

Too much. That's all he knew. It was just too much for her.

She cried all the time, prompting Patton to do the same. Whatever wound she had that would begin scarring was quickly reopened in whatever **punishment** that would come to mind.

Right now, she gripped her once silky hair, only for it to be pulled off her scalp without strain. She stared at the clump of locks clutched in her hand, and smiled dimly. "Looks like I have cancer."

The weight on Thomas' chest and shoulders threatened to choke him to death. And while he desperately craved an end to his misery, Patton and Virgil pushed him awake constantly.

The less he slept, ironically, the more restless Virgil became.

The continuous reminder of Thomas' bounds made both men's lungs constrict, their vision tunnel, their mind race.

The walls closed in and threatened to crush him. Filthy water and gore and perspiration combined and flooded the room and threatened to choke him, only for it all to be gone. He could  _feel_  Tony's disappointment—

"Hey, hey," cooed Tony. Thomas never saw him coming down these days ~~months?~~ . He only opened his eyes, or focused and listened, and there he was. "No need to freak out. Just behave, alright? If you _behave_ , she won't be **punished**."

He knew this. He did. It was perpetually embedded in his mind, his soul. That, and the fact that _everything_ was his _**fault.**_

Logan's newly developed logic included a deep apprehension of anything remotely related to kind in Tony, in The Woman, in Kate.

Patton could now see flaw after flaw in everything he once saw wonderful and perfect. Joan's laugh, once so adorable, now seemed false, manipulative. Mom's smile was cruel. Dad's jokes— any jokes, it seemed— demanded trust.

Logan agreed.

Fingers pulled on his eyelashes. Thomas didn't even make a sound. It was routine. He lost focus, Tony made sure he focused through an effective, physical way.

If the aspects were honest, they all would rather be abused continuously than betrayed.

Thomas finally opened his eyes.

Tony simultaneously grinned and glared. He walked to the child, already crawling away backwards, whimpering. He unsheathed his pocket knife, and Patton screamed along with her.

"No!" Thomas' plead was gargled with blood, but the other refused to listen. "'M s-sorry! I'm sorry, _p_ - _pleasse!_ "

Tony sighed. "How you manage to disappoint me. Don't you know the rules, Tommy?" Right then, Tony still staring at Thomas, the knife plunged into the ebony and cobalt arm, and she shrieked.

His thoughts, thankfully, became too loud for him to hear her. Any guilt was a million times better than that horrifying, miserable sound that already rang perpetually in his mind.

Tony then slid the knife against his own jaw, staining it, as he hummed. He then gasped. "You know, I think you'd had enough."

Kate raised her head lethargically from where it hung limply, furrowing her brows, whatever tears her body could muster flowing freely down her cheeks. She already had lines on her forehead.

He grinned at both of them, and fished inside his coat. As the hand returned to line of sight, on it rested an ebony pistol, gleaming under the brightness of the room.

Thomas felt a lump grow in his throat, just as Logan immediately sensed the meaning behind the weapon.

"Kate, you deserve a choice, don't you?"

She blinked once.

Tony unlocked the one chain around her ankle, and handed her the gun. She stared. And stared, at the gun.

Logan short-circuited.

Virgil sighed deeply, relieved. **_Finally._**

 _What will Mom and Dad say?_  mumbled Patton. _What will they **do?** What about **Christian** and **Patrick** **and Shae and Joan and Talyn--**_

Roman laughed gleefully. _Heaven..._

"Do whatever you want with it," cooed Tony, spreading his arms in emphasis. Then he went up the stairs and left the room.

She glanced at Thomas, rubbing her ankle, then her eyelids. Her eyes landed back on the weapon.

"Jusst d-do it, K-Kate."

Logan, before Patton could even react, abruptly spoke up, finally able to comprehend everything. _Too t-traumatic. M-murder-- tooo trraumatic. Too y-young. She **can't.**_

Kate shook her head. "Sorry, Tommy."

Thomas shuddered, his eyes widening. "W-what?"

The gleeful cackle turned to an uneasy chuckle, unfocused irises narrowing.

She fiddled with the safety, turning it off. Then she stared at the gun-point with too much serenity.

Thomas' breath hitched. "No." He whimpered. "P-please, Kate. _No!_ "

Patton's breathing came too fast. They both pleaded in unison: "Wwhat ab-bout— what a-about _them?_  Mommy and D-daddy?"

She shook her head, grim. "Why didn't they come?"

Thomas sobbed. That one fact that Patton had pushed away continuously was forced at him in the simple question.

"Sh-she can't—" Virgil sputtered, trembling. "She's j-just a **kid.** "

"Dad s-said that if you know your family is dead— not missing— you have... closure. I'm helping them, Tomm— Thomas. A-and..." She took a steadying breath, trying to dismiss the man's blubbering pleads. "They won't hurt me anymore. You won't be sad if they hurt me, Thomas."

"No!" Logan gripped his hair. "Wrong, wrong, _wrong!_ "

Thomas' vision distorted as the tears slid down his cheeks; he convulsed with sobs.

She waved. "Bye, Thomas." She placed the weapon against her temple, and, for the first time in forever, smiled.

_All the aspects ran forward but—_

_**BANG!** _

Something _snapped_ within them all.

Thomas threw up at the sight.

Heaved, sobbed, only to cackle.

Screamed his voice raw.

Until he only collapsed, muttering, mumbling things that did not follow reason. They mostly consisted of the obvious falsehood that she was not deceased. She wasn't. _Wasn't_.

Then, silence.

And only then, Tony sauntered in.

"I knew this would be it." He sighed in content. "The defining factor." He walked up to Thomas, lifting his jaw. As he gazed into his eyes, he grinned. "Good news, Tommy. You're going home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kill me. I deserve it.
> 
> Did you enjoy, my fellow masochists and sadists? I hope so. Or I might be stretching the angst here. But don't worry; Thomas is FINALLY going home!


	11. Rescue... Or Just Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time I have a reason. Well, half of a reason.
> 
> I'll admit, I could have updated before Irma came, but by the time she came, the electricity and water left for most of the country of PR. Miraculously, though, we were spared. I thank the Lord.
> 
> Anyway, electricity was gone for a while, so I only wasted my phone data to check tumblr and reread stories, but my stories are in my iPad.
> 
> Electricity came back Sunday, and I COULD have updated, but that's mostly my fault.
> 
> So yeah. Not much of an excuse. Here it is at least! Enjoy, and please review; I'm not that proud of this chapter.
> 
> You know what? You deserve a second chapter after this.

Joan screamed in joy at the words in the phone call, then dropped the phone, running out of the apartment, while Talyn yelled at them in confusion. Christian had to run and hold them back. Then a sobbing Joan attempted to explain between hiccups, that an anonymous caller gave the detectives two locations.

Two locations to find him.

The siblings carried both Joan and Talyn, who had collapsed, to the car, and Shae drove faster than ever before.

When they arrived, Schultz embraced them to give them comfort; Cuevas strained a smile and placed his hands on the parents' shoulders.

"You need to stay here," ordered Schultz. "We called you first before all; there's no danger now. We're going to find him, alright?"

They all nodded, some trembling. Others openly sobbing.

Joan decided to keep this miracle to themselselves this time. They didn't dare give the other friends false hope.

After the detectives left to find him and apparently someone else, the family and two friends had to wait. And wait. And. Wait.

* * *

 

Talyn paced and paced. Patrick served himself some coffee, sagging with exhaustion. Shae and Christian shared earphones to listen to music to distract themselves. Thomas' mother leaned her head on her husband's shoulder, the latter sniffing, the former still gasping in shock.

Joan only sat, imagining seeing his face again, hearing his voice. They smiled genuinely, finally.

* * *

 

They heard an ambulance zipping past.

They all clutched their phones.

No call.

Instead of relaxing, knowing it wasn't him, Joan's shoulders only stiffened further.

* * *

 

Joan began pacing as well, their hands aquiver. They paced for hours. They didn't notice.

Nobody stopped them.

* * *

 

**Finally,**  a call.

Joan thrusted the mobile phone against his ear. "Hello?" he breathed.

"Mr.—" The caller cut himself off, remembering Joan's annoyance at formalities. "Joan." There was a pause, before Cuevas continued. "We called an ambulance. He'll be in Florida Hospital Wauchula."

He hung up, and Joan sat there, trying to dismiss how the man's voice shook.

"Well?" urged Mr. Sanders impatiently.

Joan hesitated. "...He's going to the hospital."

* * *

 

Mr. Sanders asked the man by the counter for Thomas, and, after asecuring they were all family, they were passed through to where he was kept.

They were orendered by the nurses and doctors alike, to remain outside of the room. So they watched him, or tried to, from the outside in. And Joan wasn't sure if they were thankful or hateful, if they appreciated the silence the glass gave, or if it was only adding to their helplessness. Joan had been suffering from that dichotomy ever since the first phone call came today.

Joan, somehow, did not expect seeing him like this, in here. How easily the kidnapped came back home, healthy and happy, in Hollywood. Joan, not for the first time, wished he lived in a movie. Where everything would be alright. Where Thomas would be safe and happy and would forget everything he went through. Happily ever after. The end.

Instead, Thomas looked... hideous. Bedraggled. Instead of the smooth, pale skin they had come to love, Joan saw a red, black, blue, swollen, lacerated excuse for skin. Matted, greasy hair, blackened by filth, instead of the soft, magenta locks he never ceased adjusting. They barely recognized the ripped, tattered shirt (was it even a shirt?) on his torso.

His face rested in a permanent scowl, his brows furrowed, and there were wrinkles on his forehead.

Talyn gagged at the sight. The parents looked away. Joan heard sobs.

But Joan was silent. They couldn't look away.

The doctors and nurses scurried around, encircling him, prickling him with needles.

Joan despised doctors, could only imagine what Thomas would be feeling right now.

But. Everything will be fine. Thomas _is_ strong. He'll get through this. Physically and mentally. He'll be just fine. 

Joan repeated this mantra in their mind until they could believe it.


	12. Preview of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second in one day. First one's just too short and mediocre. How could I do that to you?

Noises. Too many, too loud. Blinding light. His arms throbbed, stung. His head was killing him. A hand gripped his arm.

Virgil's breath hitched.

Thomas scrambled away from the touch, slower than he would have liked, his breath wheezing.

There was a beeping ripping through his ears. Shouting. There were people shouting. He could feel their anger.

 _Why..._ Patton' voice was flat. _Why did we trust him **again?**_

He tried to get up, moving, _escape_ , but hands crushed his chest, pushed him down. His breathing had quickened dramatically. Virgil whimpered.

"Hold... hyp...ntilating. Str...im down..."

A ragged whimper ripped from his throat, as binds wrapped around _his forehead, his **arms,**   **legs, chest**_. He began sobbing as Virgil shrieked.

His arm was gripped again, and something stung it once more.

His breathing slowed unnaturally quickly, and a voice _~~Not Tony~~_ told him everything would be okay. Logan mentally stuttered, but then understood.

 _Hospital_.

That was the last thought until he drifted far, far away, where Roman slaughtered whenever he wished.

* * *

 

Schultz and Cuevas came after a while, the former's hands trembling slightly. Cuevas slightly mirrored the family's horrified expressions.

To see both of them that distraught only caused Joan's tears to shed faster.

The three brothers had to stop them from entering the room, from screaming at the cruel doctors, from calming Thomas down.

"I'm so sorry," uttered Schultz, shaking her head. "This is one of the worst-case scenarios we attempted to avoid. It wasn't the case—"

" _Hey!_ "

Both detectives looked behind their shoulders, and Joan craned their neck to see. A flushed woman with bloodshot eyes and disheveled black hair stomped until she was before the detectives. An Asian man stumbled behind her.

She tried to punch Schultz, but the officer easily caught the woman's fist. "You killed my daughter!" the woman shrieked. "You and that wretched man killed her! He deserves to die more than my girl, yet you _save_ him?!"

It took Joan approximately four seconds to comprehend this ”man” that she spoke of, and they immediately rose to their feet.

Cuevas saw, but held a hand out, his eyes brimmed with tears. "Let her," he mouthed.

"Th-there's _no_ way she could have killed herself! _None!_ " That's when Joan heard the desperation, but they frowned, didn't understand. "It's your fault she died!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Gāo," spoke Schultz, putting a hand on the mother's shoulder. "Your daughter is the first casualty In this case. It must go public because of that; it'll be easier to find them."

"You're too late, you bitch!"

Joan saw Schultz flinch. Her hand retracted as if burned.

The man behind the seething woman took her hand gently, prompting her to turn around. "It won't change a thing," he mumbled. "Blaming them will do nothing, Sarah."

She ripped her hand away and sobbed, then ran away. He went after her, shooting an apologetic glance at the detectives.

The silence was deafening, thick, speaking all that couldn't be said.

"Who was that?" queried Shae quietly. "What... What was she talking about? Did she mention Thomas?"

Cuevas rubbed his face with both palms. "We're not sure, but both Katelyn Gāo and Mr. Sanders could have been kept in the same place. They were captured around the same time."

"But she..." Talyn's eyes were wide, dilated. "She _killed_  herself?"

"How old is she?" demanded Mrs. Sanders before any response could be formed.

Both detectives hesitated, but then Schultz walked away, wiping her eyes, and entered the bathroom.

Joan's chest tightened inexplicably, their eyes fixed on the door. Waiting for it to open, for her to come out safe and healthy and _not_  taken.

Cuevas cleared his throat, rubbed his head. "She was... almost nine years old."

They all gasped.

 _Too young_. The thought resounded on Joan's mind. They feared it wouldn't ever leave. Along with the whispers and screams that constantly blamed them.

" _Why?_ " whispered Christian.

Cuevas sighed. "They claimed they're trying to prove a point." Silence. "Excuse me."

Then he left.

"What the hell is that point?!" yelled Patrick, standing and stomping away in an instant.

Christian was already after him, but the father grabbed his arm. "Not now. Leave him." Christian nodded slowly, his brows furrowed, and he sat once again.

Joan racked their brain for the answer to Patrick's question... everyone's question.

Right now, however, they couldn't think. Their thoughts belonged to Thomas and that poor little girl.

* * *

 

They were asked to go home. Thomas would stay in the hospital for a while. The good news is that even with such dangerous habits (dehydration, malnutrition, infection, etc.), he miraculously didn't fall into a coma. Joan supposed they should feel grateful. And they _were_ relieved, especially because they just realized those monsters were capable of killing, but...

But at the same time, they felt so _angry_.

They wished there was someone above to blame, a god or fate, for the hell they all went through. It was more terrifying to blame people; unassuming one second, guilty the next.

Joan was certainly wary they would come with a vengeance because of their loathing thoughts or because the detectives would publicize their actions.

But those things were good... right? Things the kidnappers deserved.

They could only imagine what the Fanders would do. Get themselves in danger or actually taking it to themselves to solve.

Or run away horrified for their safety. Yes, that one is more accurate.

Another thing that wouldn't leave their mind was that _point_ , that _purpose_ for all that happened. When they told Talyn about it, the other only shrugged helplessly.

When Mr. Sanders heard the quiet conversation, his expression darkened, but he was silent.

 _Does he know?_ Joan thought. But they themselves didn't. They all probably never would.


	13. Help Denied with Perversion

The decently tall woman with straight, chestnut hair with blonde highlights, took a deep breath. The psychiatrist has gone through this before, but the tragedy that came off of her patients in waves always left her weary. She knew this one would be no different.

Dr. Rose Alice Pérez got a call yesterday morning, at seven o' clock, that she would evaluate a young man's mental health. Her boss did not delve into specifics, only that he was kidnapped and mistreated heavily while captured.

Rose already knew this would be difficult. And heartbreaking.

Sometimes she wished she was desensitized to her patients and their suffering, like other psychiatrists she worked with. But mostly, she was grateful to show that she cared, even if it twisted her heart.

She took another breath, checked Thomas Sanders' once short, now terribly long medical file, then turned the knob, and opened the door.

Rose cared too much for her patients, but she knew how to control herself. So, she contained her gasp, and forced a smile.

Thomas' eyes glanced at her for a second before flying back to his bruised, shaking hands.

Rose breathed through her nose again, made a mental note, and tried to dismiss the many, many bruises and cuts that covered him completely. "Hello, Thomas."

By that simple action, he already tensed. Her smile twitched. "Did I do something wrong?" she queried.

As she expected from any patient that lived through what he did, no answer.

"Well, my name is Dr. Pérez, but you can call me Rose if you'd like." She walked slowly, noting how he scrutinized her every move, until she reached the plastic chair a few feet away from the bed. "You must be exhausted. Why don't you lie down?"

A quiet beat. No movement.

She decided to get down to business, and recited her practiced mantra that she gave to her many patients. "You must not know why I'm here. I've been asked to evaluate you. I understand what you went through must have been horrifying, so I need to see if you're mentally stable. It's only a precaution, but trauma cannot be ignored, wether we evaluate it or not."

Thomas smirked. As if he's been waiting for that. Rose sighed. He would definitely be a challenge.

"So, Thomas." She almost winced at his second flinch. She racked her brain for an answer. "...Do you not like me calling you by name?" She heard his breath tremble, but still, no response. "You do realize I am not a telepath, and I can't help you if you don't speak to me." She controlled her urge to sigh once more. No trust, Rose knew. It was very common, too common. "Do you want to know more about myself? Before I get to know you?"

Finally, he shrugged. It was better than nothing.

"Well..." She took a sharp breath. "I'm single, I have a daughter, and I love to watch romantic comedies... I would like a pet, but I'm far too busy for that. My favorite food would be chicken." She rested her face in her palm, racking her brain for something personal, but not too personal. "You may notice by my accent that I'm an immigrant. I come from Puerto Rico. If you'd ask me, I'd go back and try to help my people there. But helping people here also brings me joy."

There. Wether he believed that or not, wether he would decide to trust her or not, there it was. She silently breathed out in relief; she absolutely loathed sharing about herself unless she deemed it necessary.

But he covered his mouth to snicker. Rose raised one eyebrow, taking her notepad and scribbling notes. "May I ask what's so funny?" she prodded, glancing up at him.

Thomas, for the second time, made eye contact. A shiver ran through her back. Whatever those eyes held, they did not before.

"Do I not have the right to laugh?" he inquired huskily, tilting his head.

"As long as I know you're not mocking me," she answered simply.

He grinned. "I believe I _am_ deriding you."

Rose's small smile fell. "Thomas—"

Thomas groaned. "That's not my name," he snapped. His tone was... odd. Almost like a poetic accent, a melodic intonation.

"Really?" She frowned, her pen ready to take note of whatever he'd claim. "What is it, then?"

"I realize I had one, but now I must change it." He glared, challenging her. Then grinned, almost maniacally. "Call me Lucifer."

Rose did not have time to answer, because he jumped and tackled her in a flash, one hand gripping her hair, the other choking her. Her scream was muffled; her hands flew desperately to the hand threatening her life, somehow strong through all the starvation. She saw his grin become murderous.

But it was short-lived, because nurses, and ultimately security guards took him off of Rose, and held him down on the bed. She coughed, trying to steal air back in raggedly. When she could focus, she saw men strapping Tho... Thomas down.

He began shrieking, whatever violence and abuse he wished to portray abandoned. Her heart twisted somehow. Rose stood there, unblinking, trying to figure out why. Why he shrieked and why she sympathized after being assaulted.

A hand on her shoulder. "You alright?"

She turned to see David, a nurse who Rose had been aquaintances, perhaps even friends for quite some time. "I... I'm fine." She practiced a smile, surprised. "I did not know you worked in this wing."

He nodded. "They promoted me," he yelled, his voice attempting to overcome all the commotion. Then pointed to the door behind him, scowling as the screams intensified. She nodded, and followed him outside the room.

Now that the pleads for mercy were lowered considerably, he asked again. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"My neck is a bit sore is all." Understatement. Her hand found itself lightly stroking the probably bruising skin. "Who knew he'd have such a grip."

"Adrenaline?"

She pordered. Then shrugged. "Maybe."

"You know you can talk to your boss to give you a harmless one once in a while, right?"

"Y-yes." She mentally cursed her stutter. "I know."

He nodded, eyes expressing their usual concern. "Well, I gotta get back to work. Have a nice day, Rose."

"You too." She smiled again.

After he left, she immediately went back into the room, where ”Lucifer” was already unconscious. Even still, she found her hands trembling. She picked up her notepad and pen, and wrote in unusually wobbly hand-writing: _Probably claustrophobic. Sadistic and/or has violent tendencies._ She knew nothing else to write as of now. She scrutinized his miserable expression that remained during his sleep, and shook her head, sighing.

This one is very, very damaged.

* * *

 

Dr. Kent, a middle-aged, pale man with weary eyes, sat in front of her, behind his desk.

"Pérez," started Kent, waving a hand. "I understand if you don't want him. You have taken our most hopeless ones for the longest time now. Just say the word."

Rose smirked. "That is very generous of you, sir, but I have decided to stay with him."

Kent deadpanned, but he was accustomed to her stubborness. "Whatever you say, Pérez."

Her interest was piqued by Thomas, to say the least. And she couldn't imagine leaving any other psychiatrist to him after what he'd done to her. It was the logical thing to do, she supposed.

"Are you certain, Pérez?" he asked again for good measure. As if that would change anything.

"Yes, sir."

They stood, the man nodding at her in respect. Rose's smile threatened to widen. Only four months ago that man hated her guts.

She picked up the files, wondered aloud if there was more data on Thomas. Kent denied it, claiming his was spotless before all this.

She sighed and thanked him, then left.

* * *

 

When Rose came back home at five in the afternoon, Zoé was watching TV, changing the channel every few seconds.

"Hey," greeted the girl when she noticed the woman entering, smiling briefly at Rose.

"Did you eat?"

"From the leftovers." She nodded absentmindedly.

Rose smiled. "Come over here and hug me, huh?"

"Okay." Zoé rolled her eyes, but smiled, and strode over to the mother. As they embraced, Rose kissed her temple.

"Did you study? You know you're in ninth grade, Zo."

"Yeah. I started the project due next week, and they haven't announced any tests."

Rose sighed. "You have it easy."

Zoé giggled.

Rose went to change and checked the notes of her patients, her gaze lingering in the most recent one. After adding a medication followed by a question mark on his, she shut them, ate the chicken and rice and beans she cooked yesterday, then went to bathe. She realized Zoé wanted to watch something with her, which was _Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2_ , and they sat together on the couch.

With the ridiculous comedy and the stunning visuals, her stiff muscles finally began to unwind, and she sighed in relief. Soon, however, she fell asleep in the middle of the film.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think! I know after so much fast paced angst, this definitely lost momentum. Plus, you might not appreciate my OC, her being kind of a Mary Sue. But in my opinion, a kind Mary Sue is just what Thomas needs. Anyway, just let me know!


	14. Mysterious Alters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I'm taking some writing liberty. I have researched the psychological disorder Thomas suffers from (basically since sixth grade? I just always found it fascinating), but I think it might deviate because the sides were always a part of him. So, if anything sounds unrealistic, I'm sorry if it bothers you, but the way I wrote them is pretty important to the plot.

The next morning... Thomas was the complete opposite than the first time.

Just as Rose entered the room, he whimpered, his breath heavy; his limbs, held in a straight-jacket, began trembling.

Her prepared smile faltered without her control. "...It's alright. I forgive what you did. I-I don't know why you did it, but I won't presume." It's as if her short rambling went unnoticed, but she dismissed that. "How would you like to be called...? Lucifer?"

He seized, vehemently shook his head. If the guards really frightened him that much...

Her fingers drummed on her leg. She disliked standing around frozen like this. "Thomas, then?"

Back to the routine of the silent treatment. He never made eye contact. But, from what she could see, his eyes weren't empty nor gleeful.

"You're scared. I won't hurt you in any way, Thomas. You can trust me."

He shook his head again at the last sentence, with more furor this time. Which made sense. Two months in such torment... It does things to the mind. Horrifying things.

She walked and took her seat in the same chair, albeit two feet farther away from him. Farther than last time. She willed her leg to cease from bouncing, and took a deep breath.

"Well, Thomas, my job consists of getting to know you. I won't tell anyone anything personal, unless it consists of you harming yourself or others." She took a deep breath. "Fortunately, I brought some things to keep you busy and so I can evaluate you, in the case that you don't wish to speak." She took out a board game, some books, and a piece of paper with Sharpies. "I'm not sure what your preferences are, so I brought a variety."

As she neared, he crawled further back in the bed, squirming in the straight-jacket. She gently placed the things on the bed in front of him. Thomas eyed them as if they were a trap.

"I've been told your family and friends won't stop asking to see you." She eyed him while preparing to take notes, trying to see if that would garner a reaction. And indeed, the only reaction she received was a hunch of shoulders and the dulling of his eyes. She mentally kicked herself for being so careless. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

Thomas sighed, shrugged, suddenly leaving all sign of fear. "It's true."

Rose could not keep up with the constant change. Was he tricking her, testing her? "What is?" she queried dumbly.

"They can't see me. You just pointed it out."

"You don't know that. You just jumped to a conclusion. You're only here because I need to evaluate your mental health—"

"Think we both know how ” _healthy_ ” I am," he snapped.

She hesitated. An idea was forming in her head, but she quickly dismissed it, no criteria from Thomas' childhood meeting it to be legitimate. Although, while rare, trauma in adulthood _could_  cause the disorder. "We both know you're not alright. But I'm here to see if you can at least go home, or if you have to be hospitalized." She stopped her urge to sigh when there was still no reaction. "I'm trying to be as honest as I can, Thomas."

"Not me," he mumbled. He rubbed his face and lay back on the bed, seemingly not caring of the contents that his legs kicked to the floor.

The idea thrusted into her mind again, and this time, though all reason told her it was unprofessional to do it, she decided to test her theory. "Then who are you?"

He was silent for a while as he stared to the ceiling, unblinking. "I'm Tristan, I think."

"Tristan." She tested the name, and so far, her theory seemed to stand. "What do you mean by ”I think”?"

"I represented something else, but I think I changed. I-I don't know why I'm—" Tristan cut himself off.

"...Telling me all this?" she finished. In truth, he had barely told her anything, but it was many times better than silence. "It's alright. You can trust me."

"That's the thing..." Tristan mumbled, and finally made eye contact with her. "I can't."

Her stomach twisted at the statement, but she didn't comment. "Well, Tristan, don't you want to play a board game? Or draw or write something?"

His eyes slowly looked back to the ceiling. He didn't move a muscle; if it wasn't for the rise and fall of his chest, Rose would have wondered if he were dead. Then he shrugged. It was obvious what his answer was. She sighed.

"Can I ask...? What do you mean when you say that you represent something?"

He took a deep breath, and shut his eyes. "Nothing," he mumbled.

Well. It was worth a shot.

Her eyes flicked to the different items on the floor. She stood and walked over to them, but Thom— Tristan's ragged gasp gave her pause, made her step back by instinct. "What? What did I do?"

His forehead glistened through the cold. "S-sorry," he whispered, shaking. His eyes told her he himself didn't expect the reaction.

She stared as she kneeled to collect the items slowly. "If anything, anything bothers or scares you, you will tell me. I want to make our talks and your stay as comfortable as can be."

Tristan sighed. Rose then mirrored it back, albeit quietly.

"The others don't wanna trust you," he muttered.

Another sign. Dissociative Identity Disorder seemed more and more valid. "Are the others voices?"

Tristan shrugged slightly. "He can see us too." He turned in the bed, gripping the thin blanket like a lifeline.

"Since when?"

"Since forever."

Rose frowned. "Does this have to do with you representing...?"

Tristan nodded.

Her lips formed a strained smile. She could see how desperate he really was. "You say you can't trust me, but... I think you want to."

He sighed again.

And then he was silent for the rest of the hour. When the time came to see her other patients, she collected her things, took some last notes, and stood.

"I hope you have a nice day, Tristan."

She lingered for five more seconds, then went out the door, knowing by now that Thomas, or Tristan, speaking was a rare feat.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I don't know if you understood Thomas' thought processes. I kinda like the format and the idea, but I want to know if you like it as well. 
> 
> And if you're like me, and crave for more angst, don't worry. It's coming. If you already dislike the angst, don't read. But I would appreciate constructive criticism.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this horribly short prologue.


End file.
